Comme des Enfants
by ohhush
Summary: Amy Santiago was not scared. Amy Santiago did not know the meaning of the word 'scared'. Amy Santiago was especially not scared of something as normal as summer camp.
1. Orientation

Amy Santiago was not scared. Amy Santiago did not know the meaning of the word. Amy Santiago was number eight in a family of eight children; if she was a timid child she never would have made it out of the crib in her parents' bedroom.

Amy Santiago may not have been scared, but she could admit to being a little nervous. Just a little.

Recently, she'd begun to feel like maybe her classmates didn't love her as much as her teachers did. Being voted 'Most Appropriate' in the end of year superlatives had been such a thrill for her at first, but on the walk home from school with Luis and Marc she reflected on that day's events and she wasn't so sure about being 'Most Appropriate' anymore.

She had wanted this the moment Nick mentioned it in passing over dinner one Sunday. A camp! A police camp! Imagine, how good that would look on her Academy application! And with three brothers, six uncles and her grandfather on the NYPD, Santiago had to be a name that people respected, there was no harm in making sure hers was heard early.

She didn't regret the decision, no; she just hadn't expected it to be so intimidating. She was Amy Santiago: smart, confidant, self-aware, so why was she so nervous? Why were this crowd of loud teenagers so intimidating? She was better than them all. Not only was police work in her blood, but she worked her ass off. Somehow, this never quite seemed to translate into affection from her peers, and it baffled her.

"Amy Santiago!" a voice called from the throng of youths, startling her. Towards the side of the room sat a boy, just as alone as her, gripping the same literature pack she held in her arms.

"Teddy!" Amy's eyes lit up as soon as she recognised the boy, dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"My uncle got me in!" Teddy beamed, patting the seat next to him. "I could ask you the same but I'm going to guess your answer will be pretty similar."

"Good detective work!" Amy giggled. Why did Teddy always make her giggle? Every damn time. "Nick was on the recruiting team, but he didn't even have to try to put his sales spin on this, I was all over it as soon as he mentioned it."

"Oh yeah," Teddy nodded. "Did you know that the Academy plans out the schedules? This is the real deal."

"I know! Nick told me that there's no mercy…it sounds _amazing_. I heard you even get to take the real Academy entrance exam at the end!"

"I sure hope so," Teddy smiled. "But how are you, Amy? How'd the APs go?"

"Oh!"

Amy blinked for a moment. This wasn't normal. People her age never just _asked_ about school or work or any of those things Amy loved, let alone boys. Let alone boys that she only saw once in a while, and only ever at NYPD family events. This was a shock to the system, but Amy could deal with surprises. Of course she could.

"Really well, I think. I don't think I got 5s in either of them, 4s if I'm lucky, but it's only the first year. I had a really good time taking them so I think I'll go for more next year."

"More!" Teddy laughed. "APUSH nearly killed me, and I'm almost two years older than you! You did two, right? APUSH and trig?"

"Yeah," Amy nodded; again, surprised that he'd remembered. "Trig was definitely…interesting. I was the youngest."

"Excuse me," a man stood up to the podium, tall and intimidating. "Excuse me, young people. Settle down."

Oddly enough, the entire group quieted as soon as he stood to attention. This almost never happened with Principal Bennett.

"My name is Detective Raymond Holt, but you may call me Detective Holt. I am a Grade 1 detective in Brooklyn's own 99th precinct, and I am the founder of the NYPD's Cadet Camp. Some of you are here today because you want to be here, because your parole officers or principals mandated that you attend, because you received bursaries or scholarships or simply because you want to be here. It does not make any difference to me why you are here, because I promise you this: you will all leave here as true cadets in my eyes."

For some reason, when Detective Holt made this promise, she believed him. She even believed that he could magically turn around the lives of the rowdier looking individuals that Santiago now knew to be the 'juvenile detention' contingent.

"Now, young people. I will hand you over to Detective Terrence Jeffords, who will be in charge of your troop."

"Thank you, Detective Holt," an even taller man took over the podium, nodding to the older detective as he left the makeshift stage. He was younger than the other detective, huge and very well built, and somehow authoritative without being intimidating. "Again, I am Detective Jeffords, you may call me Detective Jeffords or Terry based on the situation – you'll figure it out. If you don't, well…" he grinned. "I'm in charge of Troop C – you guys, the Brooklyn troop. While I will be your commanding officer, I am also your leader, and my leadership style is very respectful: if you have a problem or a suggestion, I am willing to take it on board…I didn't mean _now_, but okay. Shoot," he pointed to a boy in the centre of the group, hand stretched above his head.

"Yeah, why aren't we the B Troop? B Troop, Troop B, whatever?" asked the boy, head laden with dark brown curls and eyes framed with big black plastic glasses that weren't too unlike the pair she had waiting at home. "I mean, Brooklyn! Am I right? Where Brooklyn at!" he grinned. "Where Brooklyn at? You know, like…"

"Yeah, Biggie and 2Pac," Detective Jeffords answered quickly, eyes narrowed a little. "I got that. The Bronx are Troop B. There's a certain amount of troop rivalry, but it comes second to everything else at Cadet Camp – you'll see. There are other rivalries to have, between dorms and – my next topic – precincts."

"You'll notice a number on the front of the packet you were given today, and this number corresponds to one of Brooklyn's 21 precincts. To the back of the hall are 21 real police cadets from the Academy: one of these cadets will be your precincts 'Captain' for the summer. You will be expected to engage in most activities with your precinct, to work as a team just like a real precinct. I'd like you to join your captains now – and no swapping. Remember, there's no swapping in the real NYPD."

Precincts! They were getting precincts, just like real cops! Maybe Amy would get the 81 and she could be just like Nick – maybe their Captain would _know_ Nick! She didn't realise that her hands were shaking until she reached to the floor to pick up her literature pack. She had to hold the sides of her face to focus as she read the numbers in the corner – damn contact lenses – but there it was: a bold sticker reading '99'.

"What did you get, Teddy?" Amy stood, still shaking a little.

"81," Teddy answered, walking towards the back of the room. "You?"

"Oh, that's Nick's precinct!" Amy brightened a little before deflating. "I got the 99."

"Damn, I was kind of hoping we could be together."

"Me too," Amy spoke softly.

"Hey, this is you, right?" Teddy gestured to a short man dressed in a uniform that was emblazoned with the numbers '99'.

"Oh," Amy blinked, "I guess it is. I'll see you later, Teddy."

"Good luck, Amy Santiago!" and he was gone.

"Hello," Amy walked up to her 'Captain'. For some reason, nothing about this potential authority figure made her feel nervous in the least – for some reason, he actually made her feel a little more confidant. That said a bit, because Amy was by nature a reasonably confidant person. "My name is Amy Santiago, ready to join the 99."

"Amy Santiago!" the man grinned. "Welcome to the 99, my name is Recruit Officer Charles Boyle, but you can call me whatever you want!"

"Charlie," a girl piped up from next to Officer Boyle, and Amy's eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw the neon-green spandex dress she was clad in. "We're going to call him our Charlie!"

"Just not Charlie, should have mentioned that first…" Officer Boyle blushed. "This, Amy Santiago, is the rest of the 99 so far: Cadet Gina Linetti and Cadet Rosa Diaz," he gestured to spandex girl and a tall girl with a head of long wild black curls, clad from head to toe in black: black leather jacket, black skin tight jeans, black military style boots.

"Latina?" Amy asked hopefully; glad to see another morena in the hall. "Soy cubana."

"I don't see why it matters who I am or what I am," Rosa practically growled.

Amy froze at the girl's words – maybe she was one of the kids sent here by their parole officers. Maybe she needed to be careful around Rosa Diaz. Rolling her eyes after a moment of staring at 'frightened puppy' Amy Santiago, Rosa relented.

"Sí,nació en Colombia pero no importa nadaaquí, ¿entiendes? Somos más que Latinas or morenas, ¿vale?"

"Ya entendido," Amy swallowed. This girl was the real deal, not some third generation Cubana like her. This probably meant a lot to her; Amy got it.

"Jacob Peralta, reporting for duty!" a voice boomed from behind.

"Jake!" Gina squealed, grabbing the boy's arms and jumping up and down. "It's Jake, you guys! Jake's in our club!"

"Precinct. And we don't exactly know who Jake is," Amy smirked at Gina, looking up to Rosa for approval.

"I know Jake," Rosa replied shortly. "We take a…we're in an after school class together. Peralta's cool."

"Thank you, Rosa," Jake grinned. "Linetti, Peralta and Diaz! We are going to be a damn cool precinct." Amy faltered a little at the boy's words. If these other girls were 'cool', what was she?

"Jakey, this is Charles Boyle!" Gina continued to jump up and down excitedly. "He says I don't have to do any physical at the camp!"

"I never said that," Boyle's eyes widened. "Every cadet has to participate in the full physical programme, I never said that…"

"He doesn't know me yet," Gina whispered to Jake, "he doesn't know that he is legally obliged to give me what I want."

"I'm sorry, Recruit Officer Boyle," Jake shrugged Gina onto his shoulder smoothly. "Gina and I go back; she lived in my Nana's building when I was a kid."

"I miss Williamsburg," sighed Gina, snuggling into Jake's bright yellow t-shirt. "Park Slope's got nothing on jammy jams with you and Nana, it's so boring. That neighbourhood you lived in in Queens, now _that_ seemed exciting!"

"Oh, uh, I guess it was exciting," Jake laughed, seeming a little nervous for the first time. "But I'm back! Back in Brooklyn! Back in the 99!"

"So you and Gina are actually from the 99?" Boyle beamed. "Wonderful!"

"I live in Greenpoint, pretty sure that's in the 99 too," Rosa offered.

"It is! Three 99ers on the 99, wonderful! And you, Amy?"

"I'm from New Brunswick," Amy answered automatically, only realising just what she was saying after the words had left her mouth.

"In _New Jersey_?" Jake stared at Amy.

"Ew," Gina made a face.

Amy Santiago was suddenly very nervous.


	2. Week 1, Day 1

Amy had never been to summer camp before, and she was beginning to suspect that it was a bit obvious. Summer camp was such a nice, wholesome thing for an American kid to do, but it didn't feature too highly on Cuban parents' list of priorities – particularly when there were eight children to consider. Rafael once went to an athletic camp on a boxing scholarship, but that was it for the Santiagos, until Amy demanded to go to Cadet Camp. Mama's restaurant was doing well, and after years on the force Papa was finally raking in his pension in his Florida: New Jersey. That, combined with Amy's academic scholarship, meant that she was the second Santiago to get the good old fashioned summer camp experience.

Of course, Cadet Camp was more than a little different. New York being New York, there were no cabins and no lake: instead, there was a big hotel-like building, a pool outside, sports fields and a nice restaurant downstairs. Amy vaguely remembered this place – Police Camp, a resort where members of the NYPD used to go to relax, tucked away in the Catskills. She remembered a weekend here as a child, at her Abuelito's academy reunion, proud that she and Luis were the only ones given the luxury. After the talking to Detective Holt had given them when they arrived, Amy had to presume that they wouldn't be allowed to use the spa facilities.

It was the bunking situation that had Amy the most anxious. For some reason, she was okay with the idea of a cabin situation: in a room with many people there was always someone to be kind to you, in Amy's experience. But they weren't going to be in cabins; they were going to be in revamped hotel rooms: two single beds, a shared bathroom and no, the TVs do not work. The end result, in Amy's mind: if you didn't like your roommate there was no escape for the next six weeks.

Third floor, room 27. Amy tried her hardest to seem calm as she dragged her suitcase behind her, stopping at her door. She slid the card into the slot, but paused for a moment, trying to compose herself.

"AMY!" a voice screeched her name, jolting her from her reverie. Amy turned, facing the wild eyes of Gina Linetti.

"Gina!" Amy managed through her surprise. "I barely recognised you in your uniform!"

"I know," Gina shrugged sadly. "I can't believe they wouldn't let me bring any of my Spandex. I'm a dancer; don't they know I need my elasticity?"

"Oh. That, um, that sucks, I…"

"But look!" Gina interrupted Amy again. "We're neighbours! Me and Rosa are in 25, right next door! We can have jammy jams together!"

"Jammy jams?" Amy made a face. "But yeah, super cool. And you and Rosa, that's awesome. We're all going to be really…close."

Amy smiled the best that she could. She already felt like the outsider in the group; now the other girls were seemingly happily bunking together, leaving Santiago with some stranger. She knew they couldn't help it, but it was hard not to be a little jealous.

"I'll talk to you in a minute, Gina, okay?" Amy smiled at the other girl as she reinserted the key.

"Suit yourself…" and Gina wandered off. Amy could not get a solid read on that girl.

She pushed the door again, examining the room. It was almost as she remembered – a little less cramped with only two single beds rather than the two and a double that there had been, and a little loveseat against one wall. It was definitely better than her imagination's version of camp – she guessed the New York kids couldn't handle something as rustic as a cabin. On one bed lay a suitcase, clothes already strewn around.

"Knock, knock," Amy cleared her throat, announcing herself to her unseen roommate.

"Oh," a figure appeared in the door of the bathroom; a tall girl with dirty blonde hair stood, mid lipstick application.

"Hi," Amy gave her best smile to the other girl, pulling her lips up as high as they'd go. "I'm Amy Santiago; I guess I'm your roommate. Super nice to meet you, I'm so excited!"

"Oh, hi," the girl finished applying the lipstick, lazily sealing it with some toilet paper. "I'm Kylie and yeah, really nice to meet you too."

"Great!" Amy grinned. "I thought that we could…"

"Oh, Amy," Kylie smiled, but Amy wasn't quite sure if it extended to her eyes. "I have to go; I'm meeting some of my friends on the first floor…"

"The Manhattan kids?" Amy blinked.

"Yeah," Kylie walked towards the door. "Such a drag that I have to be in this troop just because my stupid Dad decided to move to Brooklyn Heights…I mean, I still go to school in the city, I…" She stopped, pulled herself together, and smiled. "No. Nothing. I'll see you later, Amy!"

Amy stared at the spot in the doorframe where Kylie was for a moment. She didn't know what to think. She didn't seem awful, but she did seem very…different to Amy. Very 'big city'. If she couldn't handle Brooklyn Heights – and Amy was in awe of that place – then Amy wasn't sure how she'd handle the idea of New Brunswick. Amy didn't even live in New Brunswick; she lived in a suburb – a suburb of a suburb of a suburb. She'd give Kylie a chance, though, there was too little there to form an opinion off…

"Amy Santiago, what are you staring at?" a voice boomed, and for the second time, Amy was jolted out of her own thoughts. On the opposite side of the hall, just inside the other doorframe, stood a boy; arms folded and big lips pursed in disapproval. "I was kidding, Amy Santiago! Look, we're right opposite you! You're gonna be like Phoebe and Monica and we'll be like Joey and Chandler!"

"Racist," a disinterested voice came from inside the boy's room, "and you're the Chandler."

"…and I'm the Chandler!" the boy cheerfully agreed with his roommate.

"Jake?!" Amy exclaimed after a moment's peering. "What did you do to yourself? The glasses, the…?"

She didn't finish. The boy at orientation last month had all the style of Brooklyn's finest nerd – big ugly glasses and curls that looked like they were trying to eat his head had compounded with the obnoxious personality to make quite the impression. This boy…well, he wasn't bad looking. Neat dark hair, big brown eyes, a tan that wasn't quite moreno…and the jawline, and those lips…

"Detective Holt made me cut my hair, said he'd make me work kitchen every morning and night until it was gone," Jake told Amy, cheerful as always. "And I loved my hair; I totally looked like Ashkenazi Jim Morrison…"

"…so that's what that is…" Amy mumbled under her breath.

"…and then my Nana was like – well, you're gonna be doing a lot of physical every day, better get you contacts so they don't have to send for an emergency replacement once you inevitably smash your face off the ground…which kind of makes sense, unfortunately," Jake made a face. "So next thing I'm at the eye doctor's, poking plastic in my eyes! Awesome, huh? I love eye plastic."

"Yeah, contacts are great," Amy nodded. "I wear them too, they're the best. And your Nana's kind of right, I got mine for sports too. You know we're going to be doing combat here? Like, real combat!"

"Yeah," Jake stood up straight, obviously trying his best to look nonchalant. "I know you're a girl and you're little and all, but we're all cadets here. I wouldn't want to break your glasses."

"Break my glasses?" Amy snorted. "Dream on. I'm Cuban, I can box. Your big plastic frames would be on the floor before you could open your eyes wide enough to take a swing."

"Do we have to have a glasses fight, Amy Santiago?" Jake stood forward, narrowing his eyes.

"Maybe we do, Jacob Peralta," Amy responded in kind.

"Out of my way, Mangy Carl!" a big guy barrelled out of Jake's room, roughly shoving him into the doorframe. "I gotta go find me that Latina picante I saw at room assignment!"

"Bye! That's Doug Judy, super cool guy," Jake rubbed his nose where he'd slammed into the door, wincing. "Super cool."

"Are you okay?" Amy looked at the boy, concerned at the sudden deflation in his exuberance.

"Yeah, totally…" He looked a little uncomfortable. "Thank God for the contacts, Nana would kill me if I smashed my glasses before I even left my room."

"That definitely would have smashed them," Amy laughed in agreement. She'd been worried for him, he'd taken quite a knock, but if he was joking, that probably meant that he was okay. "Please tell me he's not going after…"

"Rosa?" Jake finished her sentence with a smirk. "Yeah. He doesn't know what he's in for; Rosa didn't want to come here because they wouldn't let her bring her axe – that's just Rosa."

"No way." Amy's eyes widened. She didn't know whether to be terrified or impressed by her Latina hermana. Scared, at least, was the answer for now.

"Aw, Rosa's fine underneath that layer of dirt and steel and caked in dried blood," Jake waved off Amy's concerns, pulling the door shut behind him. "I won't say she's sweet, but she's not psychotic – Peralta guarantee," he smiled. "Maybe we should go down to the mess hall; Boyle said he wants to talk to us."

"Okay," Amy pulled her door shut, falling into step next to Jake. At least he seemed better than first impressions had indicated, that was small consolation. "So, Mangy Carl…"

* * *

Quick notes;  
\- Thank you for reading and interacting however you see fit - gràcies, merci, obrigada, dankeschon, bedankt.  
\- I base jake's teenage hair on that one time I decided that mid-neck length hair would look wonderful on my ~ginger~ jewfro, just how every 13 year old girl dreams of starting a new school. I wish i'd had an authority figure like Holt to tell me to shave it off.  
\- A teen AU Doug Judy, exactly what B99 fanfiction's been crying out for. (He's a lot of fun to write.)  
\- The camp layout is vaguely based on my only camp experience - three weeks in a resort rented out for a camp of international language focused teenagers in the middle of Olive Country, Andalusia. Easily one of the most formative experiences of my life.  
\- Bona diada al meu pais. Visca per molts anys.


	3. Week 1, Day 4

Finally. Amy stood at the foot of the field, inhaling the vaguely dusty smell of summer mornings. There were a few kids already there, steadily trickling in, though she was stood alone. She'd heard Gina singing Christina Aguilera at the top of her lungs in the shower as she passed, so she presumed it was only a matter of time before they joined her. Kylie would be here soon, judging on her place in her daily makeup routine when she'd left.

Teddy was with his precinct across the field, a group that looked the appropriate amount of fun for someone like Teddy. They were laughing, but nobody was ranting about their plotted coup to usurp the commissioner at graduation; nobody had threatened to stick their boot up someone's 'crap-factory' (and even in Amy's own mind she was censoring Rosa on that one) and there wasn't a nerdy looking white boy planning aloud his debut hip hop album based on his own 'observations'. Amy was a little bit jealous.

It was 6:35 AM and Amy Santiago was up, outside and not alone. It was wonderful. At home, her brothers teased her for getting up this early. Here, everyone did it! Of course, they _had_ to be up this early. Still. Amy was pleased; she was no longer alone. Papa had always told her to shut out what others said and thought, that if her family had paid heed to what other's thought she'd never be here in the world. She'd tried her hardest to live Papa's words, but it was difficult, difficult when people could be so obnoxious.

"Amy!" a familiar voice interrupted Amy's happy appreciation of her environment. "Please tell Rosa that she needs to start taking the lid off her perfume and make up so I can get to it quicker in the morning!"

"Amy," Rosa gritted her teeth, "Please tell Gina that she is a fucking goblin."

"Gina…" Amy began.

"No! No! No, you do _not_ use your weird Mexican third eye psychic thing on me!"

"Inappropriate," Amy shook her head. "No, Gina, I was just going to ask…what happened to your uniform?"

"You like?" Gina posed herself awkwardly on the astroturf field. Her NYPD exercise shirt was no longer baggy on her slim frame, but cropped to mid-riff, while her shorts had been altered surprisingly professionally to just about cover her ass cheeks. "I can design you a uniform too. Rosa didn't want them, but I'll make you your own NYPD booty shorts!" She began to dance, twerking to an invisible beat, revealing a very well done embroidered message of 'Bootylicious' on the rear. "Do you get it? Just like the Beyonce…"

"She gets it," Rosa rolled her eyes. "I'm telling you, Gina, you are going to get shafted for this. Holt is not going to like this, you saw the shit he gave Peralta."

"Jake's normal, _I'm_ delightful," Gina retorted. "Detective Holt loves me, as does everyone. Now Amy, your shorts…I couldn't just put bootylicious on your shorts, it has to be true and you just do not have that level of bootylicious in your booty. I'm sorry, I only tell the truth. What I could do is put something more…you. More Amy. Not quite 'geek' or 'nerd' or 'lame' or 'loser', but…'serious' or 'restrained' or 'proper' or…oh, I got it. '_Appropriate_.'"

"Appropriate?!" Amy spat, and she didn't mean to use quite as much venom as she had. She was so delighted with that superlative when they'd announced them, but apparently appropriate wasn't the compliment she had taken it to mean. Apparently it meant boring? Boring! Amy Santiago was not boring. "I am not appropriate. I am hella dope."

"Hella dope?!" Rosa repeated, her and Gina both spluttering with laughter. At least they could agree on one thing.

"You want me to put that on your booty shorts, Amy Santiago?" Gina raised one of her eyebrows – was that actually tattooed on or just painted? – with a smirk. "Hella dope?"

"Um. Um, maybe not. I don't actually think the booty shorts are such a good…"

"Ap-ro-pri-ate," Gina enunciated. "Girl, you're appropriate. Embrace it, live in it."

Amy didn't reply, just pouted a little. Maybe Gina was right, but even if Amy was appropriate she didn't want to _seem_ appropriate, she wanted to be…impressive. She didn't just want to do what others did; she wanted to do it better.

"Troop C, good morning!" Detective Jeffords yelled, effectively silencing the group of teens surrounding Amy. "I know you're all tired and hungry, but today's a big day, because we are going to be doing PFQs today! Don't worry, this one's not important to us, but it's important to _you_, because you need to know what you have to do. If you don't do well today, you might want to think about doing some free weights or running in your free time, and if you do well, keep doing what you do. Your captains are behind me, ready to log your scores, and…."

"Where's Jake?" Amy hissed, suddenly realising that the lone male in their group was not there.

"I don't know, it's Jake," Gina shrugged. "He likes to sleep."

"But this is important! This is our PFQ; it probably goes on our permanent records! What if our precinct score is docked because Jake…"

"_Appropriate_," Gina sang, eyes focused on Detective Jeffords, who was busy explaining the first exercise.

"But Jake…"

"What?" Jake shoved his way in between Rosa and Amy. "Why are you talking about me?"

"Because you're late!" Amy hissed. "You are late, and you could…"

"Push ups!" Rosa interrupted, getting into position. "Stop talking and do push ups!"

"Fine…" Amy got into position and began pushing herself up and down, counting underneath her breath.

Push ups weren't her thing, but she still wanted to do her best. Still, Jake and Gina were…bothering her. She stole a glance at Gina to her right, on her fifth push up after a minute. Not great but unsurprising, she hadn't heard her talk of much past interpretive dance. Actually, Amy hadn't heard the others talk about sports at all…what if they had the lowest score of the troop? In her panic, she looked right to Jake, counting aloud. His form was actually very good, she was a little surprised. Nothing about Jake screamed 'athletic', but…

"You're not wearing your uniform!" Amy hissed at Jake, trying not to let it affect her push ups.

"I didn't have time to change my boxers; I just put the t-shirt on and ran!" Jake hissed back.

"So you're wearing your underwear?!" Amy was horrified. "That's disgusting!"

"I have the shirt on!" Jake defended himself. "What's the big deal?"

"The point is…" Amy was slowing. "…it's not the uniform!"

"Ugh!" the others groaned, almost as a collective.

"Time!" Detective Jeffords called out. "Give your captain your score, take a five minute rest and we'll move on to sit ups."

Charles did not say anything to Gina or Jake about their uniforms, just praised them on their fine form. Amy couldn't help but side eye her groupmates – these guys couldn't be as fit as her, she was a state champion. Yet she, Jake and Rosa all scored almost level, and Gina…well, Gina tried. Sit ups were more of the same, though Rosa faltered a little behind Amy and Jake on that one. Nobody did well on the pull ups, although Jake did do a little bit better, which Amy reasoned would be normal for any male when compared to a female.

The track, though. Oh, the track. That was where Amy _lived_. This was a nice track, a little better than the one she was used to though not as well maintained. Still, it was nice and flat, no cracks to trip over or stumble on. She was going to show her group just how appropriate she could be.

"I'm the New Jersey 1600m under 18 champion," Amy couldn't resist bragging as they got into place, waiting for Detective Jeffords to call them.

"So?" Rosa scoffed. "This isn't a race."

"My time is faster than the male champion," Amy continued, as though she couldn't resist showing off.

"Oh, really?" Jake turned his head to Amy, in position.

"Yeah," Amy nodded, a little surprised. "I've told you about my athletics…"

"Yes you have, Amy Santiago," Jake agreed. "Great for you. Wonderful."

Jake was making fun of her. So was Rosa, and Gina…Gina was lying flat on her back with headphones in her ears, but Amy knew that Gina would have made fun of her too. Amy set her jaw and got into position, waiting for Jeffords to blow the starting whistle. Rosa was right, it wasn't a race, but Amy Santiago was going to make it a race.

The whistle went, and Amy switched into sprint mode. This was her game. Jake could solve his little puzzles and Rosa could fight everyone that stood in her way and Gina could…make a sturdy paper airplane out of every sheet of paper she received, but Amy Santiago could do all that and run like there was no air holding her back. She was well ahead of the others, and she was loving it. She loved running, full stop. It wasn't anything about feeling 'the wind in her hair' – like she'd ever run with her hair down – but it was about freedom. You didn't have to think to run, you just had to do. Nobody could make fun of her for studying too hard or being a nerd, running was all her.

It was when she got to the mile mark that she began to worry a little. Her average race was 1500 meters, but apparently the academy standard run was a mile and a half, around 600m more than she was used to. Gina had diverted to the middle, where she was doing her usual dancing and yelling along to a Destiny's Child song, but Rosa and Jake seemed to be going strong, and their gap was actually closing a little.

They kept running. They passed the mile point, gap closing. This was already longer than Amy was used to, and she was beginning to tire a little, but not so badly that it showed physically – it was mental fatigue more than anything else. They were near the end point, Charles waiting with a stopwatch in hand. Amy could practically feel Jake's stupid brown curls bouncing just behind her – more metaphorical curls at this point, as anybody who'd listened to the boy whine for more than a couple of minutes could attest to how spiritually attached to his hair Jake was. Still, she could feel him catching up, Rosa not too far behind him.

One last push, Amy told herself. One last push and it would be over; she could show them what she was made of. She screwed her eyes shut and ran with everything she had.

"Time!" she heard Charles call. "Incredible job, guys! Detective Jeffords is going to be so pleased when I give him your scores!"

"So what were they?" Amy demanded, her words coming out far sharper than intended.

"Um…" Charles fumbled with the stopwatch, and Amy could feel the rage bubble within.

Beside him stood Jake, head between his legs in a futile struggle to catch his breath. Amy's chest was also a little tight – not because she was out of breath but from sheer adrenaline. Rosa was behind Jake, looking calm and apathetic as always – if she had found it difficult she wasn't showing it.

"Okay, Jake and Amy have the same time, 8 minutes and 57 seconds, Rosa ran it in 9 minutes and 2 seconds, and Gina…" Charles looked around for the other girl, "…is asleep. But great job, guys! I think we have some of the best scores in the troop! I'm going to hand your scores to Detective Jeffords now; he's going to be so proud of you guys…" The small man jogged away after his superior officer.

"Good job, Santiago," Rosa nodded with a small smile. "That was a lot of fun, I kind of get why you like this running stuff so much."

"What?" Amy snapped, ignoring Rosa's congratulations. "What the hell, Peralta?"

"What do you mean?" Rosa replied on Jake's behalf, the other boy still bright red and wheezing.

"I don't get it!" Amy was on the verge of whining, a trait she loathed. "I'm a state champion; I run 3k every morning before school! Peralta…Peralta ate a bag of dry roast instead of warming up and he's literally wearing his underwear!"

"I was snacky…" Jake defended himself between breaths.

"You think you're better than us, don't you?" Rosa narrowed her eyes at Amy.

"No, I don't, not at all, I…" Amy balked and trailed off, Rosa's strong gaze proving too much.

"You do," Rosa stated, taking a step closer to the shorter girl. Amy was not a person that was easily intimidated, but Rosa was certainly someone who could push her there. "Little miss Amy Santiago, the perfect child from New Brunswick, state champion and, let me guess, 4.0 GPA?"

"4.1," Amy swallowed, immediately regretting following her instincts. "And I'm from the Bronx, actually, we moved out to Jersey when…"

"I don't care where you're from!" Rosa yelled, and Amy was beginning to realise that she had flipped a switch in the other girl. "What bothers me is that…"

"Shut up, Diaz," Jake interrupted as smoothly as he could with ragged breaths. Amy waited for Rosa to punch him in the face, but the blow never came. "Amy, I play soccer and Rosa does…what is it, Diaz? Taekwondo and karate?"

"Yeah," Rosa nodded, still scowling, "but listen, Santiago – you're not the only overachiever. I'm a third dan blackbelt in taekwondo and I'm not bad at MMA either. As for Peralta, he trains with the Red Bulls Academy. I could beat the crap out of you and Peralta could score a goal with your body."

"Except not!" Jake quickly corrected Rosa, seeing Amy's horrified face. "I'm not a scorer; I'd pass your body up to a midfielder then defend so my team could score with your body. Teamwork, right?" he grinned.

"That wasn't the part that bothered me," Amy blinked.

"Look, Santiago," Jake shrugged one arm – so that was where the light definition and decent form came from… - over Amy's shoulder. "Diaz' point is just…don't think you're better than us just because you take this crap more seriously than us. We still do our best; we're just…not going to have a panic attack if we don't do things perfectly."

"Go have a shower, Peralta, you reek," Rosa shook her head at her friend.

"Huh?" Jake lifted the collar of his cadet t-shirt and inhaled. "Oh shit!" he laughed. "Oh man, that's like a sewer…gotta brush my teeth, too…see you at breakfast, fart brains!"

With Jake and Charles both gone, Gina seemingly passed out on the lawn and the majority of the other cadets long left for breakfast or showers, Amy was left alone with Rosa Diaz, a girl who'd threatened to use her talent for martial arts to 'beat the crap' out of her. Amy could almost feel herself shrink under Rosa's dark gaze.

"I could use a cigarette so badly…" Amy heard herself whimper before she knew what was happening.

"Amy Santiago!" Rosa raised an eyebrow and…grinned? Was that a smile? "There we go, a surprise! If it's just a cigarette you're looking for, I may be able to help…"

Amy had walked to physical totally alone that morning; she didn't _need_ anyone. She left with Rosa's arm over her shoulder: Rosa, a girl who'd almost _beaten_ her before threatening to physically beat her up. Rosa, who now knew about her shame cigarettes and didn't think any less of her for it. Was that why people were so distant? Because they thought she was _perfect_? Amy Santiago was not perfect, but it was true; it wasn't something she'd ever admit. Would people think more or less of her if she let her flaws shine a little?

As they walked away Amy turned back, blinking at the sight of her beloved running track.

"Should someone wake Gina up?"

* * *

Quick notes!

\- Sorry for delayed posting - I have a couple more chapters written that I'll post over time but I'm in my final semester of my degree so that takes precedence right now; we'll see after.

\- Just wanted to say thank you for any favourites or interactions or whatever, means so much to me!

\- Re. my description of Jake: I was blessed with a beautiful Jewfro and myopia and decided that cutting my hair short right before starting a new school would be best as a 13 year old. Did not realise that it would puff right out and up, and I presume Jake's would do the same. (I _know_ Samberg's would do the same.) Currently considering cutting it à la Ilana Glazer or St Vincent but my mother keeps reminding me of _the_ _incident_. People don't know how to cut curls here. As for Amy's cultural background, I've personally spent quite a bit of time living in Spain and am double majoring in Hispanic Studies, so I tend to pick out little ways she was influenced by her family's culture, not always the most obvious ways.

\- It's snowing! (And that is a rare thing to be able to say where I'm from.)


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